


The Holly and the Ivy

by PenguinofProse



Series: Penguin's festive fics [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a fluffy ending, Bina breakup, F/M, Festive angst and fluff, Protective Clarke, Sick Bellamy, and festive angst, festive fluff, injured bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy gets hurt and Clarke rushes home to take care of him. Angst with a fluffy ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Penguin's festive fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024797
Comments: 24
Kudos: 137





	The Holly and the Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone getting Penguin's festive fics fatigue yet? No? Great! Here's another one! This is set between S2 and S3. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. Happy reading!
> 
> If you have any objections to my portrayal of Gina and her relationship with Bellamy, please don't bother leaving a comment about them. Thank you kindly. If you're a huge Gina fan you might want to go read something else instead but I think I've been civil.
> 
> Content note: illness, nightmares, abandonment anxiety.

Bellamy is happy he made things official with Gina.

Really, he is. She's a good woman – too good for him, certainly – and she's kind and warm and cares about him. Sure, she's not Clarke. She's not exasperating and addictive and challenging. But that's a good thing.

Really, it is.

He knows it's daft to worry about labeling relationships amidst the chaos of Earth. But maybe that's why it feels so right to officially date Gina. She's unearthly in many ways, too clean and calm and put-together for this crazy planet. She doesn't remind him of everything he's been through, everything he's done, and that's just perfect. She allows him to brush those parts of the past under the metaphorical carpet and focus on the here and now.

There are downsides, of course. Doesn't every relationship have its teething problems? He struggles a lot at night, has bad dreams that wrench him from sleep. And Gina's kind about those – obviously she is. When he wakes up, panting in horror, with her by his side or in his arms, she strokes his arm or his forehead a little and tells him he's safe, that the demons aren't real.

Clarke wouldn't be like that. He's certain of it. He may be devastated and furious that she left, but he's still honest enough to admit this to himself. Clarke would hold _him_ , not expect to be held. Clarke wouldn't tell him his demons aren't real – she would acknowledge that they are, then help him to face them.

Clarke would be more forceful about taking care of him, and sometimes he needs that.

No. He mustn't think about Clarke. She _left_ him. And he's got a wonderful girlfriend waiting back home for him when he's finished hunting in this heavy snow. He ought to -

The panther seems to come out of nowhere, slicing through his distraction and his thigh. There's blood and pain, shock as red blood splashes against the snow.

His last thought before he blacks out? One of these days, his obsession with Clarke is going to get someone killed.

…...

The demons come for him, but it's not the same as usual. He doesn't wake, frantic and gasping, to shake them off and try again.

He's stuck here, trapped in some fever dream, visited by everyone from his mother to Dante Wallace. He wants to flee – _needs_ to flee – but he cannot seem to wrench his eyes open.

There are other sensations, too. Sharp agony in his leg and his side and his shoulder. The sound of voices, some of them achingly familiar. The touch of tender hands, firm but caring.

A flash of scent that reminds him painfully of Clarke.

She's come to haunt him, his dazed brain decides. Either that or she's here to drag him through the gates of hell.

…...

He wakes in snatches, at first. Moments when he's more aware and can pick out Gina's voice, or his sister's, or Abby or Jackson. Sometimes he thinks he hears Clarke's worried whisper, too, but clearly that's just his feverish mind playing tricks on him.

After the ears come the eyes, dazed but open, as he sees glimpses of Octavia's relieved face or Gina's warm smile.

He doesn't know how long it goes on like this. It might be hours or it might be years.

Does it even matter? Is there anything worth waking up for?

…...

There comes a time when he wakes up enough to try some actual communication.

"Gina? O?" He mutters, throat parched.

"Hey, big brother. You gave us a fright." It's Octavia who speaks first.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise." Gina chastises him softly. "You're OK, Bellamy. You're safe now. Abby says you're going to be OK."

Is he, though? Is he really _safe_? Is he really _going to be OK_? How can anyone think either of those statements is true, when he's still dreaming fever dreams of the woman who walked out on him?

…...

He tries harder, the next time. He's fed up of feeling weak and pathetic. So he gathers his strength and attempts something resembling an actual conversation.

"Can I get some water?" He requests, because his throat is parched.

"Here. Let me help you."

Octavia eases him into a half-sitting position, tips a cup against his lips. And as he swallows, Bellamy notes that this is an odd development. His fierce little sister, taking care of him for a change.

Wow. He must have been really sick.

"How long was I out of it?" He asks, when he is done drinking.

"Ten days." Octavia swallows loudly. "You were so sick, Bell. Your injuries were serious and then you got a fever and – and it looked bad."

He nods, digests that information. He nearly died. Huh. Funny how that keeps happening, on the ground.

"Have you been here all that time?" He asks, a little stunned, glancing between his sister and Gina, who has kept silence so far.

She answers now. "Not all the time in the beginning. We've been here a lot since you started waking up but before that it was mostly Clarke who took care of you."

"Clarke?" He chokes slightly on her name.

"Yeah. We weren't going to be much use to you when you needed a doctor, were we?" Octavia asks, with just a little of her usual spark.

"No, I mean – why was she here?" Was she on some passing visit to trade for supplies, perhaps, and hung around just to check he was out of the woods?

"Abby sent for her the moment you got hurt. It took three days to find her but she's been here ever since." Gina says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

No. She's wrong. There's a flaw in what they're telling him, here. He may be dazed from fever but he can figure it out. Clarke's not here _now_ , so this stupid fiction they've put together where Clarke has been some angelic nurse at his bedside is obviously total crap.

"Well I can't see her." He bites out, bitter. More bitter than he should be, probably – after all, Gina is his girlfriend.

Clarke is no one. Not even a friend, since she left him. A distracting stranger.

Silence sits for a moment. He peers up at his sister and girlfriend – they seem to be having some kind of silent conversation with their eyes. What has he missed, here?

It's Octavia who speaks in the end.

"She's waiting just outside. She can probably hear every word we're saying. She just – she's been trying not to be here when you're awake. She didn't want to upset you."

He clenches his jaw, too many words fighting each other on the tip of his tongue that he knows he mustn't let loose. She's outside? She's here? He's so excited to hear that, but that's not the loudest thought screaming to be let out, right now.

She's trying not to be here, because she doesn't want to upset him.

It's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, and it makes him furious. Clearly he's more upset with her for leaving than he would be upset by seeing her here, now. Obviously her absence is more upsetting than her presence could ever be. Of course it is.

He swallows hard, tries to decide what to say.

"She can come in. I don't care." It's a lie, of course. He cares far too much. But he's not about to say that out loud.

"You sure?" Gina asks softly.

"Be kind to her." Octavia tells him firmly. "She's been worried sick about you, Bell. And she's been here for you practically every minute. I know you're angry with her but she doesn't deserve to be made to feel bad."

He snorts. He doesn't take orders from his little sister. And he'll be the judge of what Clarke deserves for her treatment of him, thank you very much.

It's an odd experience, watching Clarke edge nervously into his sickroom. He's never seen her move so cautiously before, shoulders low and steps shuffling.

Her eyes are almost right, though. She's staring right at his face with a critical, considering sort of a gaze, looking every inch the confident doctor. That's a relief. It's a relief that there's something about this distracting stranger he still recognises.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" She asks.

He considers that for a moment. He's feeling crap – everything hurts and he's weak as a kitten, too. But more than that, he's feeling the same lingering, lonely sadness he's been feeling since she left him at the camp gates.

He can't decide whether her coming back makes it worse or better.

"Not great." He chooses to say, in the end.

"I'm sorry." She tries for a sympathetic smile. "Your pain meds are already in your drip so I can't give you any more."

Pain medication isn't what he needs right now. He thinks he might need a hug, but he doesn't know how to tell her that. He doesn't know how to ask her to pretend they're still close.

He simply nods, jaw tight. He can't believe he used to be able to talk with this woman so easily and honestly.

Silence falls. From the corner of his eye he can see Octavia's worried face as she glances between him and Clarke. But he doesn't pay her much mind – he's too busy trying to make sense of Clarke's appearance. It's not just her manner which is different, he notes. Her hair is much longer and seems to be a different colour – mostly her usual blonde, but with a few odd streaks of red. She's lost weight, and yet he still can't take his eyes off her figure. And most of all, she really does look exhausted.

"I guess I'll be going." Clarke announces, out of nowhere. "I'll just be around med bay so shout if you need anything."

No. No, he's not ready for her to leave again so soon. But he knows there's no point asking her to stay – he knows that from bitter experience.

So it is that he simply nods again, and watches her shuffle straight back out the door.

The silence stretches out even after she has left. Bellamy stares at the doorway where she used to be. He wonders whether -

"Bellamy?" That's Gina, voice soft, and he finds himself remembering very abruptly that his girlfriend has spent the last three minutes watching him stare, enraptured, at another woman.

"Yeah. Hey. Sorry."

"It's OK. I get that it's difficult to see her." Gina soothes softly.

Octavia snorts. "Difficult? It's only difficult because you two are set on making it difficult. What happened to being kind, big brother? Why can't you just tell her you missed her and ask for a hug?"

He doesn't respond to that one. He doesn't respond, because he doesn't know the answer.

He doesn't know the answer, and he wishes he did.

…...

The nightmares return to him – the normal nightmares, that have him jolting awake in his bed, not the unending terrors he experienced when he couldn't wake up.

It's a bad one, tonight. It's Octavia wounded by a Trikru arrow, Bellamy giving up his baby sister to the care of a man he barely knows and trusts still less. It's his mother's voice whispering that he failed in his responsibility, that he fails at everything, that he's terrible at taking care of people.

That's why Clarke left – because she didn't trust him to take care of her.

It takes him a while to figure out where he is, when he wakes up panting and muttering nonsense to himself. This doesn't look like his room, and Gina isn't in his arms. The sheets feel stiffer, the air smells wrong.

And then the pain of his wounds creeps back in.

That reminds him where he is. He's in med bay. He looks around the room, trying to get his bearings, trying to remind himself he's safe and the people he loves are safe, too.

There's Clarke.

There's Clarke, sleeping slumped in a chair at his bedside, the one his sister sits in by day. There's Clarke, blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders, shot through with streaks of red.

There's Clarke, curled up like she fell asleep watching over him.

He can't quite wrap his head around it, brain still foggy from sleep. He heard everything his sister and girlfriend said to him earlier, but he didn't entirely believe it was _true_. And there's more than that going on here, too. It hurts him on an almost physical level to see Clarke snatching uncomfortable sleep at his bedside. No wonder she looked so exhausted when he saw her earlier.

He really is terrible at taking care of her.

That's what makes him try talking to her. However sour things are between them, right now, he doesn't want her to feel obliged to make herself achy and tired for his sake.

"Clarke?"

She jumps awake – literally jolts and leaps straight out of her chair. "Bellamy. Hey. Sorry I dozed off. What do you need?"

He frowns. _Dozed off_? She didn't mean to sleep? Has she been trying to stay awake and watch over him round the clock?

He wonders about telling her he needs a glass of water. That would force her to touch him, to ease his head and shoulders off the pillow and a glass into his hand. And he wants that, because he's really craving some human contact right now, hot on the heels of that nightmare.

But he's not sure if he's allowed to ask him to touch her. And anyway, he doesn't like the deception in that plan.

"I don't need anything. I just want you to go sleep somewhere more sensible." He tells her firmly.

She winces. "Sorry. You're right. I shouldn't – after earlier -" She trails off, with a most _un-Clarke-like_ air of nervousness.

Too late, he figures out what's going on. "I don't mean I don't want to see you." He admits, and it hurts less than he might expect. "I just – you should get some proper sleep. You're exhausted."

"I'm not leaving you." She bites out, utterly certain. "Last time I left you, you nearly _died_. I'm not doing that again."

He frowns. Is she trying to suggest she's here to stay? Just because he got sick one time? That sounds like something of an overreaction, and he doesn't associate overreactions with Clarke.

"I'm not asking you to _leave_. I don't want that." He confesses past the lump in his throat. "I'm just saying – I want you to get some sleep. I want you to be OK, too."

Silence sits for a moment. It's not like the heavy silence earlier, though. This is a more thoughtful kind of silence, in which Clarke frowns at him in a considering sort of a way.

He's thinking hard, too. He's thinking that the obvious solution here is to invite her to share his bed, but he's not sure she'd go for that. She did leave him, after all. And really – has he no self-respect, to be even considering sharing a bed with a woman who would abandon him so heartlessly?

Oh. And there's Gina. That too.

"How about I promise to actually get some sleep here?" Clarke suggests at last. "I won't try and stay up. I really will sleep. But I'm not leaving you." She repeats, voice shaky yet full of conviction.

"OK. Yeah. That's better than nothing." He agrees, smiling slightly at her for the first time since she came back. This is what he remembers about life at Clarke's side – arguing about everything, yet somehow enjoying arguing with her all the same.

She nods, pulls her legs up in front of her in the chair. It's a token gesture towards curling up more comfortably, but he lets her win this one, smiling fractionally wider in approval.

Maybe that's what convinces her to risk it.

"You want to tell me about the nightmare?" She asks.

He stiffens. He wasn't expecting her to jump straight back into their old relationship so soon. He wasn't expecting to see the Clarke he met that day outside the supply depot who helped him face his demons, not for a few days or weeks yet.

But he _does_ want to tell her about the nightmare, actually. So he steels his courage and has a go.

"It was about O. When she got hurt at the dropship camp – but with some more emotional baggage from my mum thrown in."

"That sounds hard."

"Yeah. Yeah, it really is." He swallows, stares determinedly at the ceiling while he tries to explain something difficult. "You know the worst thing? I only get to see or hear my mum these days in nightmares. Never happy memories in sweet dreams. And I know some people hear their dead relatives' voices while they're awake, as if they're calling from the hallway or whatever. I don't get that. Just my mum telling me I screwed up every time I have a nightmare about O."

He's not sure when Clarke reached out to take his hand. But she seems to be holding it, now, and as he finishes speaking and looks back at her, she's smiling at him softly and squeezing his fingers gently.

"You don't deserve that." She tells him firmly. "You're a good man, Bellamy – and an even better brother. I wish I could do something to help."

 _You already have_ , he thinks. She's been back in his life for less than half a waking hour, and already she's reminded him what it feels like to have someone taking care of him. And those words she just said, about him being a good man, about what he deserves? Next time he wakes up at night in a panic, he'll repeat those words back to himself. He'll hear them in Clarke's voice, will feel the touch of her fingers ghosting over his hand.

He's not quite ready to tell her any of that, though. He still doesn't trust that she's here to stay, still can't convince himself she won't run when the going gets tough.

So it is that he keeps his response simpler and lighter.

"Thanks." He swallows. "How have you been doing out there?"

She holds his hand a little tighter. He's not sure she realises she's doing it, but he's not about to call her out on it. He's enjoying the contact too much.

"I've got a lot better at hunting." She says, in the end.

Hmm. He rather imagines she has. And he can hear everything she's not saying, too – fear and loneliness and a crushing sense of failure. He knows her pretty well, you see.

"You should compare notes with Monroe." Bellamy offers lightly. "She mostly hits the game rather than the nearest tree, these days."

Clarke laughs, as he intended she should. "Now that sounds too good to be true."

"It's like the kids are all growing up."

"It's about time. You remember that morning Stirling and Davies started fighting over that _pine cone_?" She asks, brows raised in half-staged horror.

"Hey. We both know that fight wasn't really about the pine cone."

"I know." She sighs. "Is it awful that I miss it? At the time I was terrified but looking back – it was simpler than this."

"Yeah. I know what you mean." He swallows heavily. "It feels wrong that I look back on Unity Day as a good night."

"Maybe we need to do something about that." She suggests. "We could find something else to celebrate. Six weeks of peace? Or it's Christmas soon – I'd have thought you'd love that with all your old Earth myths."

"Greek myths and Christian festivals are not the same thing." He argues with spirit.

"But you still want a Christmas party." She insists, eyes bright.

He hesitates a moment. He does want a Christmas party, actually. He wants to knock back moonshine, dance with Clarke, and try to forget that he recently committed mass murder.

But he's not sure he can have that. Clarke might leave. He ought to stay with Gina. And besides which, he's currently sick in med bay.

"You think I'll be out of here by Christmas?" He asks in the end.

"Not sure. Does it matter? No one really celebrates it any more – we can have a Christmas party whenever we like. You know Jasper and Monty will take any excuse to make some moonshine."

He nods, thoughtful.

"Or maybe I'll bring Christmas to you." She suggests.

He nods a little more eagerly. He likes that idea more than he probably should. It sounds like a plan that will force Clarke to stick around for a while, he hopes.

Any plan that keeps her at his side is a plan he can get behind.

…...

When Bellamy wakes up the next morning, Clarke isn't there.

It's probably not a great sign that he notices that first, before he notices who _is_ there in her place – Octavia and Gina, back to keep him company. But he tries to show them he's pleased to see them, smiling broadly at his sister, throwing Gina a smirk.

It feels strange to try to flirt with her, now he's on good terms with Clarke again. He just can't wrap his head around a world where the two of them coexist in his life.

But then he has to wrap his head around that idea very abruptly, because Clarke strides straight into his room.

"Morning." She greets him, all bright and breezy, waving some kind of green branch in his general direction.

"Hey." He grins, utterly relieved that the easier mood they found in the middle of the night has not fled in the cold light of morning.

"Are you not going to ask me why I'm carrying half a tree?" She prompts.

"That's not half a tree." He argues.

"Fine. Then I won't tell you."

"Fine. Why are you carrying half a tree?" He asks, struggling to get the words out past his brewing laughter. He's missed this back and forth with Clarke so much. And although he told her last night he felt nostalgic about the dropship, there's no doubt at all that he'd rather bicker with her about a branch than about life and death.

"I'm bringing Christmas to you." She tells him, smiling a broad smile.

He gasps a little. He can't help it. It's just been so long since he's seen her wear that expression on her face, and it shoots straight to his heart.

"You're bringing Christmas to me?" He echoes, proud of himself for getting the words out.

"Yeah. Like I said I would. I'm going to decorate your room with evergreens."

He doesn't much want a hospital room full of evergreens, as it happens. But he does want to keep laughing with Clarke, so he grins and thanks her warmly.

He gets back to conversation with his sister and girlfriend eventually. He knows he should. But even then, Clarke stays put, hovering at the foot of his bed and offering the occasional comment.

"You could bring in a chair." He tells her pointedly, once she's been standing there for the better part of an hour.

"No. It's OK. I don't want this place to get too crowded."

That's funny, he thinks. She's more than happy to fill his room with foliage, but she doesn't dare bring in some furniture for herself. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was nervous about staking a claim to a place in his life again, perhaps.

"You can take my chair." Gina offers, standing quickly. "I told Sinclair I'd go back to work for a while today anyway, now we know you're out of the woods." She adds, squeezing Bellamy's shoulder.

Is he out of the woods? He seems to remember Clarke is threatening to bring the woods to him, actually.

…...

Life falls into something of a pattern, over the next couple of days. Nights spent sleeping in snatches, talking with Clarke when he wakes from a nightmare. He feels uncomfortable, still, about the disruption to her sleep and the fact it can't be good for her to doze in a chair, but he's beginning to admit to himself that he needs her, so things carry on in much the same way.

Days are interesting. He laughs a lot with Clarke, watches her bring ever more evergreens into his room. He chats a bit with his sister, and enjoys starting a new chapter in their relationship where she expresses concern for his wellbeing, too, rather than him one-sidedly dedicating his life to taking care of her. And he talks to Gina, and she touches his face or arm or hand sometimes, but he doesn't talk to her _much_. She's not here a great deal, actually. She seems keen to get back to work.

If he's being totally honest, by day three he's spending longer clutching Clarke's hand by night than he is even speaking to Gina during the day.

It all makes sense, the next morning, when Gina asks Octavia and Clarke to give them a moment alone.

He feels his heart sink. He knows what this means. This means she's displeased, that he's not been a good attentive boyfriend. He curses himself internally – he should have been more careful not to look so overtly warm with Clarke so soon. But in his defence, he really has been sick, and it's difficult to moderate his reactions and focus on doing the right thing when he's so exhausted and feels like crap.

"I'm sorry." He gets the apology out before Gina can start talking.

She frowns at him. "What for? There's no point apologising for loving her."

He gulps. This hasn't started well.

"Gina -"

"It's OK. It's _more than_ OK. I'm happy for you, honestly. You seemed so broken when we got together and – and it makes sense now. You're whole with her."

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He says, because denying that she's speaking sense seems like a waste of both their time and an insult to her intelligence, too.

"I know you didn't." She shakes her head, smiling ruefully. "We were fine together – _good_ , even. But you and I both know that you belong with her. You belong with Clarke." She concludes, that name hanging heavy in the air for the first time this entire conversation.

"I don't know about that. She left me."

"And she came back for you. I'm not saying you'll get together tomorrow. I'm just saying – you don't need me any more."

That's the truth of it, painful though it may be. He was pleased to ask Gina to make it official, was happy to have someone good in his life rather than no one at all. They were fine – functional and even sometimes fun.

But he needs Clarke like he has never needed anyone else in his life before. And in this moment, he's grateful to Gina for forcing him to face that fact.

…...

He's less grateful, later, when the nightmare hits.

It's an horrific one. It makes no sense and yet it feels so real. Gina, stabbed and bleeding where Dante Wallace once stood. Mount Weather, going up in flames. And Bellamy's not there to do anything about it, because he left. He abandoned Gina to go run after Clarke.

He chose Clarke over her, as he always will. He never did deserve such a good woman.

Clarke's there when he wakes up, of course. For a moment that makes him feel even worse, because it really drives home the point that he's always choosing Clarke over everyone, it seems.

But then she reaches out to brush sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead, and suddenly his world seems a better place.

"Tell me about it." She instructs him. It's not a question, or a plea, but an order – an order to act in his own best interests, even if it's tough. That's why he needs Clarke, he muses, as he regains control of his breathing and feels her fingers soft against his skin.

"It was Gina. I – I left her. She died. It was all my fault."

"That doesn't sound right to me. Leaving her isn't the same thing as it being your fault she died." Clarke reasons firmly.

He smiles at her, just a little. Just the slightest twist of his lips. "It felt like my fault." He amends.

"I know." She soothes, hand still stroking his forehead. "I know. I get that it felt like your fault. But you and I both know you've got a habit of taking responsibility for things that aren't your fault."

"Like you're any better." He challenges.

She snorts out a hollow laugh, lets him have that one. She moves the conversation smoothly on. "Gina's fine, anyway. I know the guilt felt real, but her death isn't real. She'll be here tomorrow morning like always."

He swallows, nearly chokes on his own tongue where it feels heavy in his throat. He knows he needs to tell Clarke what that conversation was really about. But the words are not coming easily to him. He seems to remember he used to be confident in talking, once upon a time, when he ruled a bunch of desperate teenagers.

How times change.

"I don't think she'll be here in the morning. We broke up." He keeps it short, factual.

"She broke up with you when you're sick?" Clarke asks, apparently outraged on his behalf. "I thought she was kinder than that. Did she -"

"Clarke. It's fine." He interrupts. "It was really me not her."

"And again, not everything is your fault." She reminds him fiercely.

He sighs, and it comes out as half a laugh. Is Clarke being deliberately dense about this? Can she not see what Gina saw?

Does she honestly think so little of herself?

He knows he had a very low opinion of her, too, just a few short days ago. But now she's back in his life, bringing laughter and support and meaningful conversation, he can see that he was wrong. That was just his hurt and anger and heartbreak conspiring to make him _think_ he had a low opinion of her. Whereas in truth, he knows now, he will always think the world of her.

He gathers his courage, tries to decide how much to say.

"It really is fine, Clarke. It was the right time to do it. We hadn't been together that long before I got hurt anyway and we weren't in love or something." He swallows hard. "She thought it would be better for everyone if I concentrated on getting better and spending more time with O and with – with you."

"Oh."

"And you." He repeats, taking advantage of her accidental pun and of her stunned shock. He's never seen Clarke at a loss for words before, and he kind of likes it.

He likes it, but he also thinks it's terrifying. What's going on behind her eyes, here? Is she freaking out at his implication that she's important to him, that she ranks alongside his sister in his list of priorities? Is she already jumping ahead to try and figure out whether he means it romantically?

"It's been good to catch up with you." She says in the end, when she's had a moment to collect herself. "I really missed you."

 _If you missed me so much, you could have come home_. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't let them out. He knows there's no point. So it is that he simply clenches his jaw tight and keeps his silence.

Clarke's face falls. "Bellamy?"

He curses himself. Obviously he was meant to reply to that, but what in the name of sanity is he supposed to say?

"Yeah. Sorry. You too. Thanks for coming back."

Silence sits. He blames himself. Hasn't it already been well-established that he blames himself for most things? But on this occasion, he really does think it's his turn to make the effort. Clarke might have left him, sure, but that was a while ago now, and she had her reasons for doing so. And since then, she's come back, dedicated herself to taking care of him, made him laugh, and brought a lot of greenery to decorate his sickroom.

And then she even said she missed him.

Maybe it's time for him to put a little effort into his own happiness for a change.

"You know, you don't have to keep sleeping in that chair." He sees her stiffen, presses on before she can grow annoyed or even hurt. "I mean – I felt weird asking if you wanted to share the bed while I was technically still with Gina. But I guess you'd be more comfortable lying down so, you know, you can have half the bed if you want it."

She doesn't wait for him to ask twice. All these lonely weeks of missing her, and she just strides right over to the bed, the moment the words are out of his mouth.

"You want to slide over a little? I don't want to hurt you." She says softly.

Right. Yes. Half his torso is held together with stitches. Easy to forget a thing like that, amidst the excitement of inviting Clarke to come share personal space with him.

He shuffles across the bed as best as he can, tries to leave her as much room as possible. It's only a little single bed, but lying like this with his arm hanging off the edge of the mattress he thinks she'll be able to sleep only just touching him, if she lies neatly and carefully on her side.

She doesn't go for that option, though. She snuggles right up next to him, slides an arm cautiously around his waist as if picking out a path between his wounds.

He sighs in relief. He doesn't quite mean to, doesn't consciously decide to do it. But it genuinely is a relief to feel her arm wrap around him like that, to feel the comfort of something resembling a proper Clarke hug after so long spent coping without her.

It's a funny business, he decides. He always did know she would hold him tight if ever they cuddled in bed. But he never dreamed that she'd start doing it here, now, when they are in no sense even together.

"Thanks." He murmurs, turning his head slightly to nuzzle into her hair. It might have those streaks of red, but he's relieved to find it still smells the same.

"Any time." She says, as if she really would cuddle him any time he might want her to.

She needs to be careful, saying things like that. If she's not careful, he'll end up wanting her to cuddle him every night for the rest of their lives.

And he probably shouldn't want that, because she left him. He shouldn't want that, because she might yet leave again.

…...

She doesn't leave that night, at least. She's still there the following morning, still hugging him tightly but carefully even in sleep.

He doesn't wake her up. He figures she needs the rest. So it is that he simply lies awake, breathes in the scent of evergreens and of Clarke, and strokes a thumb absently over the stripe of bare skin at her waist where her shirt has ridden up in the night.

They're still lying like that when his sister opens the door and walks right into the room. Then she sees the scene before her and freezes, jaw hanging open.

"She's asleep." Bellamy whispers as quietly as he can. He knows full well that's not really the answer to the question his sister is silently asking, but it's what he chooses to say all the same.

Octavia nods, still rooted to the spot, still motionless.

"Come back later?" He prompts her, trying very hard not to start giggling because he fears that might wake Clarke.

Octavia nods again, starts reversing towards the door, her face breaking out into a grin.

Bellamy sighs softly in relief, gets back on with stroking his fingers over Clarke's waist. He loves his sister deeply, but he's not about to sacrifice even a second of Clarke's precious rest to hang out with her. He can explain the truth about their sleeping arrangements another time, he figures.

Outside, Arkadia is waking up. Even closeted in here, Bellamy can hear people running about the place, raised voices. But Clarke sleeps on, apparently oblivious, only shifting slightly at one point as she snuggles her cheek against his chest.

He really needs to pee, for the record. His bladder is not coping well with this long lie in. But he's frankly far too happy to care.

…...

Octavia doesn't say anything about the scene she witnessed this morning, when she stops by later that afternoon.

Well, she doesn't say anything _directly_. She does have a few pointed comments on the general theme.

"You're both looking really well today. Are they going to let you out of here soon, big brother?"

"I'm not letting him go anywhere until he's fighting fit." Clarke answers on his behalf.

"Not _letting_ me? I don't take orders from you." He reminds her, half barbed, half joking.

"I don't _want_ you to go anywhere." She amends, offering him a rather vulnerable smile.

Huh. He doesn't want her to go anywhere, either. But wishing she'd stay has never done him much good, before now.

…...

Clarke stays with him every night that follows, too. She keeps holding him close, embracing him tightly yet taking care to avoid his stitches. It's such a _Clarke_ combination, and it has him remembering why he fell in love with her so easily the first time round.

He gets a little braver, as the days pass and the nights stretch on. He dares to believe she really is happy to be in his bed, dares to hug her tighter in turn, twine their legs together beneath the blankets, press the occasional kiss to her cheek or hair or forehead.

It doesn't make the nightmares go away. The demons that haunt him are still very real. But her presence does make it easier to face the terror, to talk it out, to fall asleep once again.

He sure hopes she's staying. He's beginning to suspect he wouldn't survive it, if she left him yet again.

…...

Clarke normally sleeps in later than him in the mornings. He's not sure whether that's her usual habit, or whether she's just been catching up on sleep for all the time they've been sharing this bed. Either way, that's the way it is.

So when he wakes up with the dawn one day to find that she's disappeared, he panics.

She's left him. He's certain of it, in this moment. She's gone and left him, and this time she hasn't even bothered saying goodbye. He should have seen this coming – he's been doing much better, the last couple of days, taking short walks around his room, and Clarke was starting to say he might be released from med bay soon.

So obviously she's gone and _left_. She's decided there's no point sticking around, now he's not sick any more. She only came home because he was at death's door, after all.

So that's how it is. She cares about him enough to want him not dead, but not enough to spend time with him awake and alive.

He starts scrambling out of bed, weak but desperate. He's not sure what he's planning to do – jog slowly after her, then beg her to stay? Some good that will do. And he'd probably pass out from the exertion before he even found her. What if he -

Clarke flings the door open, strides straight through, her arms full of boxes and bags.

Oh. So maybe she hasn't left after all.

"Bellamy? What are you doing? Why are you out of bed?" She sets down the things she was carrying, rushes over to clasp his hand.

Huh. Do they hold hands casually like this, now? Is hand-holding a thing they do around and about the place, not just while he's sick in bed?

"I was looking for you." He protests weakly.

"Get back into bed." She urges him, leading the way back to his bed. "Come on. Why were you looking for me? You knew I'd be back soon."

"No." He sits on the edge of his mattress, speaks firmly to her. "I didn't know that, Clarke. How was I supposed to know that? You walked out on me after Mount Weather, and now you're acting like I'm crazy for worrying you might do that again?"

She gulps. She stares at him, tears in her eyes, jaw working.

"I'm sorry for leaving." She gets the words out with audible effort, says it for the first time since she returned.

"Clarke -"

"No. Let me say this." She swallows loudly. "I'm sorry for leaving. It wasn't fair on you – I get that now. But more than anything I'm sorry for not telling you sooner I'm back to stay."

"What do you mean?" He asks, carefully controlled, not allowing himself to be come too excited, too soon.

"I mean I'm staying." She reiterates, firm. "I thought you knew. I'm sorry – I guess I never said it outright. But I thought that was obvious. I missed you _so much_ , Bellamy. I was already worrying about you and then I got that message that you were sick -" She breaks off, dashes away tears. "How could I leave you again after that?"

"You're staying?" That does seem to be what she's saying, but he's not sure he dares to believe it.

"Of course I'm staying. Why do you think I've been fussing over you every minute since I got back? Why do you think I've been sharing your bed for the last week?" She asks him, exasperated, stepping forward until she's standing right in front of him, her legs pressed up against his knees.

"Because it's more comfortable than the chair?" He jokes weakly.

She snorts out a damp laugh. He admits defeat, then. He gives up on doubting her, gives up on doubting himself. He's too tired to keep pretending he's not in love with this woman. He reaches out to hug her, shifts his knees a little as he does so, until he can pull her right towards him so she's standing between his legs.

It's a good hug, long and heartfelt. And yeah, sure, it's maybe a little awkward that he's sitting and she's standing. He's got a face full of her breasts, which he totally wouldn't complain about in a more sexual setting but isn't ideal right now when she's fully clothed and somewhat exasperated with him. And having her stand between his legs is kind of odd, has his cock stirring in his pants despite his weakened state.

Huh. Maybe that's his cue to stop hugging her. He loosens his arms, tells her silently that she's welcome to leave.

She doesn't leave, though. She keeps hold of him, presses a warm kiss to his forehead.

"Get back into bed." She tells him.

Aha. Yes. That's where they were, before that emotional argument interrupted them.

"I feel fine. You said yesterday I should start spending some time up and about." He reminds her.

"Yeah. But it's Christmas morning and you're going to spend it having breakfast in bed and opening your gifts." She informs him, as if this is a thoroughly normal and predictable development.

It's not, to be clear. He's never had someone make a point of offering him breakfast in bed, and he's received a grand total of three gifts in his entire life. And he didn't even realise this specific morning was Christmas – he's watched Clarke keep decorating his room in a seasonal fashion, but he doesn't keep track of the dates of old Earth festivals, thank you very much.

"Christmas?" He chokes out, because that seems like the easiest place to start.

"Yeah. What did you think all this was?" She gestures to the assorted luggage she set down on entering the room. "Go on, get back into bed."

He starts manouevring himself back beneath the covers. But even as he does so, he's thinking back over what Clarke just said. She promised she was staying – he remembers that clearly. And she really did miss him a lot when she was gone, and she has been sleeping in his bed for a while now.

"Only if you join me." He says, with what he hopes is a teasing tone. He used to be a better flirt at the dropship, he's pretty certain, back before all the mass-murder and the heartbreak.

She grins at him a little. "Sure. Scoot over. Got to make space for your gifts, too."

"You didn't have to get me gifts." He chastises her.

She shrugs, hands him a piece of bread and an apple, sits herself at his side. So this is breakfast in bed, he thinks. So far it seems a lot like every other breakfast he's had since he found himself in med bay.

No. It gets better. Clarke wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes softly.

"I wanted to get you gifts. They're not anything big, don't worry. Just fun."

"You, fun?" He teases.

She does that little smiling frown of hers, that pursed-lips look that says he's infuriating, but she quite likes him anyway. "Me. Fun." She deadpans.

"Thanks, Clarke. I – uh – I didn't get you anything. I'm sorry. I didn't even realise it was today and -"

"You're alive." She interrupts him firmly. "That's all the gift I need. Here. Open this one first."

He does open that one first. It turns out to be a beautiful charcoal sketch of him and Octavia. That's interesting, he thinks. It sure does fit her description of not being a big gift in that it has little financial worth. But it must have taken her a lot of time and effort, and he cannot imagine when she has had a moment to work on it.

Oh. Well. She did have a week at his bedside, back when he first got sick. That's – that's a lot of time. Did she spend it all drawing memories of happier times? Is this what she did to keep herself sane while she fretted about his health?

He thanks her for it, tells her how beautiful it is. He can't quite find the words to ask about that week, not yet. Then he moves onto the next gift – a small box of apples tied with a bow. Then there's a pair of utilitarian grey socks, then last and not least, a small pamphlet about the Christmas story, salvaged from Earth before the bombs.

"I know you like to read." She points out brightly.

It's true. He does like to read. But more than anything he likes _this_ , sitting up in bed with Clarke curled right into his side, her head resting on his shoulder, her arm snug around his waist.

"Thanks, Clarke. This is really – thanks." He swallows. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

"The gifts, you mean?"

He nods. He means that, but he also means listening to him, protecting him, appreciating him as a person rather than only a brother or leader or son.

"You're welcome. You might get another one later – my mum thinks you're ready to go home to your room."

"Will you come with me?" He asks the question before he can think about it too hard.

There's a beat of silence. Clarke is still in his arms, thinking too hard, no doubt.

"Are you asking me to help carry your stuff when you move or – or something else?" She asks softly.

He hesitates a moment. He could package this in totally logical terms, he muses – he could point out that she doesn't have a room, since her old one was reallocated when she left, and that it would be sensible for her to keep sleeping at his side.

Or he could tell her the truth.

"I'm asking you to move in with me, if you want to. This will sound crazy, after everything we've been through together, but – I'm asking if we can try dating."

"We can try that." She agrees, totally matter of fact. "It might be a bit... chaste until you get all your stitches out."

He snorts. "Hang on – we've been dating three seconds and already you're complaining about our sex life?"

"I'm complaining about you getting ripped to shreds by a panther. In case it wasn't clear – I'm really not happy about that."

"I know." He soothes, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She's not happy about that, either, though. She twists away from him, turns her head and reaches up to capture his lips instead. He supposes he didn't ought to be surprised – they have just established that they're together now, after all. But all the same it feels odd to be kissing Clarke, after so long dreaming of doing just that.

Odd, but in a good way. Her lips are warm and eager, soft but utterly insistent – just like Clarke herself, he thinks affectionately.

She pulls back first, grinning up at him.

"We should stop there. Don't want to tire you out." She says, somewhere between joking and truly concerned.

He lets her have that one. He knows she's going to make a fuss of him for a while yet, that he gave her quite a fright and it will take her some time to recover – just as it will take him some time to recover, too.

He's OK with that, though. He's OK with the injury still needling his stomach, just as he's OK with Mount Weather, more or less, so long as Clarke is by his side. She's not safe and unearthly like Gina was – she _does_ remind him of everything he's been through and done. But that's the point. She helps him to deal with it. She's there for him, every minute of every day, every second of every night. She's holding him tight and encouraging him to talk about the trauma.

She's there to remind him that you don't block out pain – you overcome it.

So that's why he's beaming from ear to ear, now, even though he has a hole in his torso and hundreds of corpses to his name. It's because he's having a merry Christmas in spite of all this, now that he knows Clarke is here to stick around.

And more than anything else, he really is happy he made things official with Clarke.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
